In Which I Humbly Propose A Vignette Based on My Own First Visit to Barney’s for the Writers/Producers of the Upcoming Show the Legendary Department Store
Dish recalls the first time she dared entering the ‘It Girls’ style Mecca that was Barney’s on Madison Avenue.
[Scene: Women’s designer floor at Barneys Madison, 1995. Early evening. It’s quiet except for the faint ethereal sounds of Love Spirals Downwards’ latest track Cay At Dawn. Claire, mid 50’s, stands next to a blonde wood architectural-looking clothing rack with stiff, clean-lined poise. A tall willowy brunette with straight shiny hair cut in a razor sharp bob, she wears a minimalist black Calvin Klein sheath dress, a holdover from her modeling days decades earlier (before leaving that life for what ended up as a failed marriage). Elegantly worn with a pair of Manolo Blahnik slingbacks that have seen better days. Her lipstick is Chanel “La Fascinante.” Her perfume Comme des Garçons 2. Her make-up? Minalimist, flawless. Her eyes? Withering. Subtly lined with MAC Eye Kohl in Smolder.]
Enter Emily (aka Dish), 26, a midlevel law associate at a large Wall Street law firm. Rushing in from work, she wears a navy Anne Klein pantsuit, pearl earrings and slightly scuffed Etienne Aigner pumps. Her Coach leather tote is stiff and functional. No discernible cosmetics. Her manner? Tired. She hesitates at the entrance just long enough to noticeably take in a deep breath, pull her shoulders back and lift her eyes, as if she were pulling herself together before a tough negotiation.
Emily: (wandering around the floor, nervous to touch any of the clothing — which is hung sparsely, as if they are works of art — on clothing racks that appeared more sculptural than functional)
Hi. …Would you help me find a winter coat please? Something professional… also stylish … and timeless?
Claire: (having watched her from the moment she stepped off the escalator ten minutes earlier without moving toward her … now eyes her over discreetly)
Where are you from?
Emily: (smiling nervously)
I’ve lived here for six years. Two before law school, four after. I work at a law firm in midtown.
(beat)
Fourth-year associate.
Claire: (nods)
Of course you are.
Emily: (wry smile)
Should I come back when I’ve made partner?
Claire: No. Better to fix things now. If it’s not too late.
(turns and walks to a rack)
Here.
(pulls a long, narrow-shouldered coat in double-faced black wool—Jil Sander, Almost Black, Fall 1995)
Jil Sander. German. Understated. It's cut like a whisper but wears like steel.
Emily: It’s elegant. Thanks. I love the way it looks … and feels (running her fingers slowly over the fabric) but, hmmmmmm, does it have buttons?
Claire: (Inhales and exhales deeply through her nose, pauses demonstrably to make it clear that she is composing herself)
It closes with intention, not hardware. Try it on.And please don’t cinch it. The belt is metaphorical.
[Emily disappears behind the curtain. Claire sighs and idly refolds a Helmut Lang knit top with faint contempt for how it was last touched.]
Emily: (from behind the curtain)
It’s so… understated. Feels so expensive.
Claire: That’s because it is. And because it doesn’t beg for attention.
[Emily steps out, feeling slightly awkward. It doesn’t look like her. Yet.]
Emily: I love that it has the hint of an edge in an otherwise classic silhouette.
I love it but will it stay closed? It seems like it will blow open as soon as I encounter the slightest hint of a breeze.
Claire: It won’t. (steps forward, shows her how to tie the inner belt so that it is secure but cinched)
Tie these loosely. D O. N O T. C I N C H. I T. It’s all about the drape.
(Steps back, lifts hands up dramatically and makes a silhouette shape. Admires it. Without really even looking at Emily. Just the coat, as it’s The David by Michelangelo.)
You wear this in the elevator, and no one asks where you’re from again.
Emily: Will it work with this? (Pointing to her wool scarf)
Claire: (pained pause)
No. We don’t do that. It’s minimalist. Think Carolyn Bessette.
Emily: Who?
Claire: Oh dear.
Emily: I, ummmm, I’m sorry to be so mundane, but I walk down Fifth to work and turn right onto 54th, straight into the most notorious wind tunnel in midtown. Gale force freezing. And I know about wind and chill. I lived in New Hampshire for a decade.
But the wind on 54th street once ripped my coffee cup righ out of my hands.
The coffee splashed all over an obnoxious prick trying to cut me off. No regrets there.
Anyway, I’m not sure how warm it will keep me if I can’t close it at the top.
Perhaps I could have a tailor add a couple hidden buttons inside the collar? Particularly if I can’t, as you suggest, wear a scarf.
It’s gorgeous but the larger point of a wool overcoat, as it were, is to protect me from that icy Hudson River wind.
Claire: (wincing visibly. Examining the collar to see whether a button could be added.)
I don’t see how that could work with the elegant lines.
Emily: (stroking the coat, looking over at Claire, taking her whole ‘I was once at Calvin Klein look’ in, then slowly gazing out over the entire fifth floor as if it were a private club she wanted membership in — the sparsely hung architectural racks, the occasional sensual wool rug breaking up the granite floor, the ethereal music and near-emptiness — all striking for a department store.)
Right. Fuck the buttons.
It’s expensive, but I just got my bonus.
Claire: Then consider it a down payment on taste.
[Claire begins wrapping the coat in tissue with the kind of care normally reserved for heirloom items of fragile glass.]
Claire: Your first proper coat. Don’t pair it with a Liz Claiborne bag.
Emily: Oh. I have one of those.
Claire: I’m sure.
(eyes softening slightly.)
Wear it like armor.
Emily: My armor is metaphorical.
Claire: (Allows herself a slight laugh)
There’s hope for you yet.
[Emily smiles, walking out swinging her Barney’s bag, quite certain she’s been treated to an extended insult yet still feeling oddly victorious. Claire watches her go, then smugly smooths the empty hanger and speaks to no one in particular.]
Claire: Call me Henry Higgins.
She’ll either be partner by thirty-five or yet another smart girl who throws it all away to marry a guy whose biggest aspiration is to move to Darien and join the Club. (Shudders)
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